“She wouldn’t come out in the dusk,” said Jim. “It is only Ponto taking the air to get an appetite for dinner.”
Jim picked up a pebble, and, taking exact and careful aim, dropped it on the supercilious nose of that overfed quadruped.
“Now, Goose Girl,” said Jim, “it is time you went up to dress, or you’ll get none of those trout.”
This timely reminder caused Miss Perry to flee. It was twenty minutes past eight; Aunt Caroline brooked no delay, and Fanchette hated to hurry.
Jim walked back sadly to his nocturnal chop. Why was he so poor? Why had he not more firmness of character? He felt that the part he was playing was an unworthy one. He had no right to be in Wales at all. He was merely acting the part of the spoil-sport.
However, the person most concerned by no means intended to have his sport spoiled by anybody. In any case, he felt quite competent to conduct his suit to a successful issue. He had made the tedious journey to Pen-y-Gros Castle expressly for the purpose.
It is true that the unexpected presence of George Betterton was a little disquieting. Some six weeks had elapsed since their Sunday morning conversation at Ward’s. The opinion he had then formed of the temperature of George’s affections had had a marked influence on his subsequent conduct. In the opinion of this cool and shrewd calculator, George was a decoy put up by Caroline Crewkerne to lure him into the mesh.
All the same, it was a dangerous view to take. And if George had had the skill to mask his intentions, George would win the prize. Frankly, he did not think George had the skill requisite to such tactics. He was one of those plain fellows whom a child might read. Superficial observers of the Kendal type were always apt to jump far too quickly to conclusions. Quite a number of these had given the prize to George already. But Cheriton counted upon a more intimate knowledge. George was a plain, solid Conservative who, when it came to the point, would think twice before making a duchess of a parson’s penniless daughter.
Nevertheless, when he took in the wonderful Miss Perry, who, in spite of all that Fanchette could do, had kept dinner waiting ten minutes, he was rather inclined to feel that he had incurred an unwarrantable risk for the mere pleasure of indulging his natural vein of cynicism. George was rather boastful about the trout, which were delicious. And at the same time he waxed enthusiastic over Miss Perry’s conduct of the punt, her manner of casting a fly; and he declared she could hook and play a fish with anybody.
“That is most interesting, my dear George,” said Cheriton. “But all this merely confirms the opinion I have long since formed of her sex.”